Author: Steve

Eating at the feeder.  Then something weird happened.  The cardinal went over next to a different kind of bird.

The other bird started begging.

And the cardinal fed it!

It’s not unusual this time of year to see a bird feeding babies, but this one was feeding a different species, a blackbird!  Then I realized the big baby bird getting fed was a brown-headed cowbird.  Brown-headed cowbirds are nest parasites.  They’ll sneak in and lay their eggs in the nest of some other bird, and let that other bird raise their babies.  This northern cardinal had just successfully reared a brown-headed cowbird!

Scissor-tailed Flycatcher.

Several people have asked about the compost tumbler.  It’s called a Hotfrog.  It’s available on Amazon:

The description says it can turn around a batch in as little as two weeks.  The best I’ve done in our hot humid climate is a month.  Initially, it seems like it fills up pretty fast, but as it composts, the volume reduces, and you can just keep adding bits to one side for a month while the other side finishes.  If the yard clippings seem too big, we pile them on the ground, run the little electric lawnmower over them, and empty the catcher into the composter.  For the bigger branches and palm fronds, we’ve got a small electric chipper.

The dogs and the frog.  (We know it’s a toad; sometimes we just want to say frog.)  They get along fine.  Where the little guy lives in the fountain pond is the same place the dogs go to drink out of the “mountain stream”.  He and the dogs don’t bother each other at all.

No running or barking required!

It’s working great!

Another finished batch today.

Yard trimmings

Kitchen scraps

Paper bits from the shredder

Egg shells

Coffee grounds

Paper towels

Potato peels

Apple cores

Orange peels

Composted down to mulch and returned to the earth.

Cowboy Poet.  Philosopher.  Former large animal vet, and prolific dispenser of country wisdom.

https://www.npr.org/people/2100231/baxter-black

“I count myself very lucky that I get to be a part of the wonderful world of horse sweat, soft noses, close calls and twilight on the trail,” he wrote. “I like living a life where a horse matters.”

We love the sound of his voice.

Aged 77.  Succumbed to leukemia.